Nothing To Be Ashamed Of
by Gingham
Summary: "There's only so much fan dancing, desk sitting and pulling lock picks out of stockings I can take!" Phryne and Jack have a frank conversation about their effect on each other, massagers and brothels. Post ep to 3x05 Death and Hysteria


Notes:

This story assumes that nothing after 'Death and Hysteria' happens, but there are many spoilers up to that point.

Obviously, I own nothing.

Please enjoy and feel free to review

No arrangement had been made when he had left her Aunt's house after their impromptu memorial for Arthur. The Inspector had said his goodbyes to a still tearful Prudence, who farewelled him with an affection quite unlike her normal proper self. Phryne was glad that their actions had allowed Prudence to deal with some of the emotions she had been denying herself after Arthur's death, but didn't feel she wanted to leave her alone just yet. Sending word via Dot to Mr. Butler that she would be dining with her Aunt, she had waved off the police car and the cab before she realised she had made no plans with Jack to continue their conversation in the "intimate setting" he had promised.

She cursed herself for wasting the chance. Jack had seemed so much bolder of late. True, some of that had clearly been courage of the Dutch variety, like when he made his drunken declaration that he would not be one of her "parade of men." ( _Parade indeed_ , thought Phryne. _If he would trouble to look, he would see that it wasn't a particularly long parade, lately._ ) But if his outburst had been unintended, she did not think it had necessarily been regretted. He had been proved wrong in his assumptions about "men who wear damned cravats" and she wondered if her failure to throw him out on his ear for admittedly questionable behaviour had prompted him to think that moving their relationship to the next level might not be the life ending, heart breaking hazard he had previously seemed to think it would be.

Certainly, since her aunt had interrupted them after the Sanderson case, he seemed to be pressing his case in a way he never had done before. The bold way he had almost caressed her neck after her tussle with the bayonet, his more than usual jealously towards Group Commander Compton, not to mention the rather surprising end to his….whatever relationship it was with Concetta Stranos. She couldn't deny she was enjoying the whole process thoroughly. And in this case, when Phryne had taken great delight in probing his knowledge of intimate massage devices and his early experiences during the raid of a Chinese brothel, she had been pleasantly surprised at his response. Instead of running away from her teasing questioning as he surely would have done in the past, he had offered to merely postpone their conversation to another time.

Phryne smiled with anticipation. Finally, after all those barriers, he was offering her a way in. She had wondered if she would be disappointed when this happened. If what she really enjoyed was the thrill of the chase, the very fact that he refused to submit to her flirtatious advances. But instead, she felt a deep thrill in the pit of her belly. After all, he alone had filled her thoughts for longer than she cared to admit.

He had promised she could get him on the couch.

Oh yes. She was going to hold him to it.

DI Jack Robinson surveyed his desk contentedly. The morning had been uncommonly productive. He had finished submitting his reports and statements involving the case of the clinic "for the mildly sensitive and overly rich" as he called it in his head. The only point that had caused him any trouble was deciding how to refer to the Percussor in his reports. In the end, annoyed at how long he was dithering over it, he had merely used the term _Percussor_ , adding a small footnote on the first page.

 _The Perkin's Percussor is an invention which certain female patients were encouraged to use to relieve the symptoms of depression or anxiety. It is an electrical device which stimulates intimate parts of the female anatomy._

The similarity of his description to Phryne's brought a slight flush to his cheeks, and he swallowed, annoyed. Since he had made the decision to pursue a deeper relationship with his partner in detection (a decision that had occurred to him as he drummed his fingers against the dashboard of his car, outside a certain house in St. Kilda. It was the simplest of thoughts: _Well, I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't, so I may as well do)_ a surprising sense of calm had descended over him. If he'd known making up his mind would feel like this, he would have done it sooner. He felt ashamed of his long period of inaction over the past year. Fair enough, he was technically married for much of it, and he would never have done anything to dishonour Rosie. But after that? Why had he been scared off by that motor accident, allowed himself to retreat back into himself? It had been like the way he was when he came back from war; broken, bitter, bereft. How could he have allowed himself to feel like that again when she had already shown him a life that didn't need to be that way? She had taught him (with no invitation, naturally) that life could be full of life and colour and fun. That he (most surprising!) could be fun! Thank heaven she had ignored his wishes to go their separate ways and stayed stubbornly by his side.

Now it was his turn to be resolute. He knew what he wanted. It had been a long time since he could imagine his life without her, but now he couldn't imagine his life without being with her. So, he had allowed himself to encourage rather than to deflect her advances, to accept more of her invitations, to enjoy the idea that it was no longer if but when. He had even allowed himself to be drawn into a playful discussion of his Chinese brothel raid, in front of Mac and his new constable no less, something which he would never have permitted a few short months ago. But he had felt that this may be interesting territory. And he hadn't been wrong.

Aside from her obvious interest in his experiences, he hadn't missed Mac's comment about friends who would be able to explain the various devices he had found, and hadn't missed, either, Phryne's good natured look of warning towards her friend. Jack realised that Phryne's romantic life would probably be full of activities and adventures the like of which he could never imagine (which wasn't to say he wasn't willing to have his mind opened) - in fact he had long appreciated this and she knew she had no cause to fear judgement from him.

But there was no denying the conversation planted certain images in his brain which made him hungry to press forward with his plan even more directly. The idea, perhaps, that Phryne had used a device such as the Percussor? That she maybe even owned one? The thought of Phryne giving herself pleasure in this way made his mouth go dry. Rosie had refused to discuss such things and maintained that she had never... taken care of herself in her life. When she had left to move in with her sister, Jack had at least been able to relieve his frustrations _sans_ guilt.

He forced his mind back to work. This would never do. He was enjoying his new peace of mind, it made him able to attack his work with the sort of pragmatic confidence it deserved. He hoped to extend that attitude when it came to Miss Fisher, which is why he had parried her further teasing with an invitation to continue their conversation about….well, "trauma". Allowing his mind to drift would not help.

Neither would trying to work on an empty stomach, he realised, as a growl from beneath his waistcoat reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

A knock at the door interrupted him. Constable Martin entered, carrying a picnic basket.

"Excuse me, Sir. Miss Williams just dropped this off. She said it was a thank you from Miss Fisher for helping with Mrs Stanley."

Jack looked up, surprised. Other than attending Arthur's makeshift memorial, he hadn't done anything particular to help Mrs Stanley. Nor was it like Phryne to send him lunch as a thank you. Still, he wasn't going to argue, particularly where Mr Butler's _gratin_ was concerned.

"Thank you, Martin," he said, taking the picnic basket.

The young constable hovered, but Jack didn't feel the need to converse further. He could do with having Collins back.

"That will be all, Constable."

Yes, Sir," Martin retreated and closed the door.

Jack lifted the lid of the picnic basket and smiled at the veritable treasure trove of lunch treats that was neatly packed within. He pulled an ivory envelope out and felt a tug in his chest when he recognised Phryne's own looped writing forming the word "Jack".

He quickly opened it, pulling out a short note.

 _Jack,_

 _Don't eat too much. Dinner tonight chez moi? Just us. You couldn't ask for a more intimate setting!_

 _Phryne_

He tried to resist the grin that was threatening to spread across his face, but in the end he gave in. There was no one to see him, after all.

Mr Butler, with all the delicacy and finesse of an international diplomat, had excused himself after a serving a sumptuous supper and had retired to bed.

In the parlour, Phryne set a whiskey down on the table beside Jack, and chose the chaise, directly opposite from where he was sitting. Kicking off her silver heels, she curled her legs under the silk of her midnight blue dress and settled in to the cushions. The food had been excellent, the conversation had flowed easily and a fair amount of wine had been consumed. On arrival, Jack had seemed sweetly nervous, but after his first glass of wine he seemed to build in confidence, sinking easily into their usual banter as they discussed their last case. Now that they had retired to the parlour, Phryne was keen to set an even more informal tone.

Across from her, Jack also seemed to visibly relax. Taking a long drink, he hooked a finger under his tie and loosened it slightly, unbuttoning his top button.

"Jack!" exclaimed Phryne. "I don't believe I've ever seen you do that."

She expected him to look embarrassed but instead he looked at her steadily, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Do you consider me to be taking liberties, Miss Fisher?"

"Not at all," she answered honestly. "I'm glad you feel so relaxed."

"After a meal like that…."

"The meal!" Phryne gave a loud and sudden laugh. "Is that all, Inspector?"

Jack smiled at her laughter, holding up his glass to the soft light. "The whiskey is rather good as well."

"Jack…"

"You sound like you're fishing for a compliment."

"Well, that's my name, after all."

Jack couldn't help but chuckle at that. "And yet I get the feeling you'd be insulted if anyone ever admitted to being relaxed around you."

Phryne considered, swirling the drink around her glass. "In some cases maybe. But we've known each other a long time now, Jack. I wouldn't like to think that you're constantly on edge around me."

"Not at all."

"I wouldn't like to think, for example, that you considered our entire acquaintance as one long raid on a Chinese brothel."

He allowed his eyes to roll, hiding the flicker of excitement he felt in the pit of his stomach. She answered with a wicked glint of her eyes.

"I wondered how long it would take for that to come up."

"Oh, come on, Jack!" she chided. "Mr Butler pulled out all the stops tonight. Don't make me tell him it was all for nothing."

"I'm sure Mr Butler has absolutely no interest in the subject at hand."

"But I do."

"And I'm expected to sing for my supper, is that it?"

Phryne stayed silent, challenging him with a grin. He sighed, tossed back the rest of his drink and stood to pour another one.

"Go on then," he said, adopted a dejected tone. "Ask your questions."

"How old were you?" she answered quickly.

"19". He reached out the bottle and she held out her glass for a refill.

"19," she repeated, looking at him up and down, imagining a 19 year old Jack. She let a low hum escape her.

"Miss Fisher…" he said warningly.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said innocently. "Am I making it hard?"

He gave a long suffering sigh as he seated himself again. "If we don't dispense with the double entendres, this is going to be a very long evening."

"Fine by me."

"Next question."

"Alright," Phryne answered, suddenly more serious. "Here's what I really want to know. What was a massager doing in a brothel? Correct me if I am wrong, but I thought those places catered to the pleasures of the customer, not the workers?"

"True. I'm afraid I never got round to asking that in the interrogation."

Phryne leaned back, thoughtful. "Hmmm. I wonder if some of the johns liked to watch."

Jack choked on the mouthful of whiskey he had just attempted to swallow. Her words spoke so clearly to his thoughts that lunchtime that he had been momentarily startled. He caught her smirk, but was determined not to be shocked. "Possibly," he answered, glad that his voice came out relatively normally.

"There were none…in use, then? When you raided the place?"

"No."

"So you've never seen one…"

"In the wild?" Jack joked, trying to cover his embarrassment. Phryne grinned. "I'm afraid not." He felt the need to go on the offensive. "But Mac indicated that you were something of an expert."

"I hope you're not implying I have to depend on mechanics for my pleasure, Jack."

"I doubt anyone could form that impression, Miss Fisher."

"I admit they have their uses," she said candidly, her eyes darkening as she held his gaze.

Jack took another mouthful, more to wet his lips than anything else.

He deliberately broke eye contact, looking down at his glass. "You don't find that our most recent case has put you off?"

"Perhaps, yes. To be honest, when the need arises, I favour a more manual approach. Much less trouble. And much more conducive to… whatever might be in one's mind at the time."

Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was suddenly very glad they were sitting so far apart.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Jack. We all need to relax now and then. But I suppose it's just another thing that is completely natural for men and yet taboo for women."

He nodded, forcing his mind to connect with his mouth and say something coherent. "So, you see yourself as making a statement for equal rights?" He tried to inject some humour into his question. The air was becoming decidedly hot and thick.

"No," she replied frankly. "Most of the time I'm just scratching an itch."

He gave up trying to lighten the mood. Phryne was on a path to the point of no return. He wasn't entirely sure why he was trying to bring her back. Hadn't he decided he was ready for this? He bit the bullet, closing his eyes as he delivered his next shot.

"Can you give me an example of that?"

Phryne's eyes widened and she couldn't conceal a sultry smirk that hovered on her lips. "Many."

"Just one will do."

"Are you sure you want one?"

"I thought we were embroiled in some mutual education, Miss Fisher. I can hardly appreciate your fine lecture on a woman's pleasure without a case study."

"Good point, Inspector. Well…" Phryne resettled on the chaise, sitting up straighter. "Sometimes it's purely physical, of course. Stress relief… allowing yourself to succumb to the sensations, enjoying it for what it is."

"And other times?"

"Other times, something pushes you there. A memory, a fantasy." She held his gaze, looking pointedly at him. "Or sometimes the thought of what almost happened."

Jack kept his face neutral, nodding as if the information was barely of interest to him. "And then?"

"And then you imagine it, from start to finish. Your hands become someone else's. You're doing all the things that you want them to do to you."

He nodded slowly, though his heart was pounding. "Very interesting, Miss Fisher." His eyes flickered up to meet hers. "But still not an example."

She grinned. She had never imagined he would be so bold. Was he trying to find the place where she would push him back, succumb to embarrassment? She had to intention of letting him win.

"Very well," she answered easily. "For example, the night you came to tell me that you don't always do the right thing or the honourable thing. I went to bed with my head full of the thoughts of what would have happened if Aunt Prudence hadn't interrupted us. I couldn't sleep until I had imagined each of the not right things that you wanted to do to me. I pretended my hands were yours. I imagined you kissing me, like I know you wanted to. I imagined you undressing me. I imagined you touching me –

"Phryne – " a strangled cry from the other side of the room surprised her into silence.

Jack's eyes were pitch black in the soft light, and he was breathing heavily. "I may not be honourable," he whispered. "But I'm not made of stone either."

There was a short pause. "I'm sorry," Phryne said, sounding genuinely apologetic. She hadn't really meant to torture him. "If it's any help, I still think you're an honourable man."

"I'm not feeling particularly honourable at this moment."

"How interesting. You should tell me more about that."

Jack looked at her, confused. His brain was having trouble forming words. He was full to the brim with desire for her, there was no room left for coherent thought.

"After all," she continued. "You did say this was mutual education…?"

It took a few moments for him to understand her meaning. Damn it, how could she look so cool and collected? But then just for a moment, her eyes softened, and he sensed a vulnerability within her.

"Don't make me share alone, Jack" she whispered.

He gave a rueful smile. "Phryne..." he murmured. He shook his head. There was no going back now, anyway. He may as well speak and have done with it.

He sat up straight. "It's difficult to think of a day with you that hasn't left me frustrated and stressed, Miss Fisher."

She gave him a grin that plainly said he wasn't going to get away with it that easily.

He shook his head in surrender. "You want to know if I… help myself out when I think about you. Of course I do. I might be a straight laced, buttoned up, highly conventional and much respected member of the Victorian Police Force, but there's only so much fan dancing, and desk sitting and pulling lock picks out of stockings that I can take."

She grinned widely. "I'm glad to have had such an effect, but…"

"But what?"

"That's still not an example."

He felt his mouth curve upwards and he choked out a laugh, avoiding her eyes. "I see."

"Jack…" She made to get up, presumably to encourage him, but he held up a hand, halting her progress. He wasn't made of stone, after all. He indicated that she should sit back down and she did so, regarding him with interest.

He cleared his throat. "The Sarcelles portrait," he began.

She grinned. She thought that what was he was going to say.

"Before that, I was attracted to you, but...I'd never imagined you like that before," Jack said. "It didn't feel right. I was still married after all, even if we were estranged, but that picture …." He trailed off.

"It was his best work, you know." Phryne said.

But Jack shook his head. "It wasn't just the picture. It was you. The way you watched me when you unwrapped it. The way you saw me blush, the way you called me on it. You had so much confidence; it was… very powerful. Especially coming after that kiss."

"You almost ran from my house that day," Phryne reminded him.

"It was the first time in a very long time that I'd felt… desire. It was so strong. It was mildly terrifying. Also," – Phryne could have sworn Jack blushed again – "there was a situation that needed taken care of."

"Yes, I remember you trying to hide your situation with your jacket," she teased.

Jack cleared his throat.

"So, you took care of it?" Phryne prompted.

He nodded slowly. "It was the first time… the first time I thought of you. I felt very guilty afterwards. But it wasn't the last." He raised his head to look at her, his eyes frank and open.

She smiled at him tenderly. "And all because of that picture."

"No. Not because of the picture. It was because of you. And I'm sure it doesn't compare to the real thing."

"Sarcelles was a very accomplished artist." Phryne almost sounded defensive of her painting. "It's the most beautiful thing I own."

"But you cannot be owned. So you are more beautiful."

Phryne felt her heart melt, and to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked rapidly, hoping Jack wouldn't notice in the soft lighting.

"I don't think I expected a conversation about brothels and massagers to take such a romantic turn, Inspector," she said quietly. "You'll have me quite undone."

"That's my intention, Miss Fisher."

Jack felt unbearably hot. If he didn't leave now, he never would. And if Phryne felt anything like he did, they both needed to gather themselves. He had seen her sudden emotion and knew he had affected her. It was enough for now. He finished his drink and set the empty glass down on the side table. "It's late. I should get home."

He stood, and this time there was no attempt to hide the rather prominent evidence of his arousal.

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher." She let him walk from the parlour without her following; her legs felt like jelly and didn't trust them to take her weight just at the moment. She was speechless. Just as she thought she was going to be driven mad in her lust for the man, he proved once again that he was so much more than that, that he might be the one who really understood her. A true partner. It wasn't just that she wanted him.

But she did want him. How she wanted him!

Just as he opened the front door, she called through. "Jack?"

"Miss Fisher?"

"Tonight… Will you…?"

"I expect so, Miss Fisher."


End file.
